


Let It Break Over You

by Ronique



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blindfolds, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dominant Homer Jackson, Dominant Jackson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological, Psychological Trauma, Sleepy Cuddles, Submissive Edmund Reid, Trauma, captain homer jackson, edmund reid - Freeform, homer jackson - Freeform, jackmund, matthew judge - Freeform, physical comfort, submissive Reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 09:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12861261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronique/pseuds/Ronique
Summary: Homer Jackson and Edmund Reid have set up another meeting, but Reid's prior trauma must be addressed before Jackson's good intentions can be realized.Takes place a week or so after "Goal Achieved" and "Reid's Perspective - Goal Achieved". Fluffy ending, but not before some hardcore pain and angst. I included the "Explicit" rating and "Violence" archive warning because the circumstances surrounding Reid's previous physical and emotional trauma come into play. Some of it is relived. Emily has passed and Matilda has yet to be found. Reid is living alone.Please note the trigger warnings! I used my own life experience in this piece to provide some basis in reality. So, it may not be an appropriate read for those who have experienced trauma and/or anxiety and panic attacks.





	Let It Break Over You

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to Otava for proofing. Comments and kudos are appreciated. I finished this at 0230 with tired eyes. If you spot a glaring imperfection, please let me know so I can fix it. Also, I'm still new to this whole tagging thing. If you spot a tag I should consider including, please let me know.

Reid tried to stamp down his apprehension, but he felt his skin prickle with sweat. He brushed the back of his hand over his upper lip to whisk away the moisture. When he had agreed to another session with Jackson, his senses had been dulled by post-coital bliss. He had been intoxicated by the intimacy they had shared and any future plans had seemed so far away and hypothetical. The reality of it all had not struck him even hours earlier, when he had chosen and dressed in one of his better suits to court the doctor’s affections. 

Now here he stood, alone in Jackson’s room at the brothel, and it was all suddenly very concrete, very real, and intimidating. He did not understand why Jackson had wanted to meet here instead of using the privacy his own home afforded, but Reid trusted the doctor's judgment when it came to clandestine activities. He seemed to have a proclivity and an aptitude for them. Only the brothel was not a place Reid truly ever felt comfortable. This was Jackson’s world, not a place where a respected detective inspector should find himself when off duty. He wondered if this was the sole reason for his nervousness, or if a combination of factors affected him.

When they shared intimacy, the doctor had been kind and gentle, even after being confronted with the grotesqueness of Reid’s permanent disfigurement. Far more attentive and patient than Emily had ever been. Her reaction to his injury had been so negative and vehement, Reid had thought he stood little chance of ever finding physical comfort again. If his own wife had not wanted him, who would?

However, the doctor had not turned away in disgust the way his wife had. He had kissed the scars that covered Reid’s left shoulder. The doctor had boldly run his fingers over them, soothing Reid's doubts and steering his mind away from the awful memories of his daughter and his wife. It had not been until that moment Reid realized how much he had longed for someone to touch him, to express a desire for him. To care about him, if only for a few hours.

In the days since their first encounter, Reid found himself frequently distracted. One moment he attentively worked through a case file and the next his mind strayed to those shared tender moments. He could not forget the look in Jackson’s eyes as the doctor had pleasured him. The way he had moved his tongue or the feel of his caress. More than once Reid had been so caught up in his reverie that a coworker’s approach had startled him. He was thankful no one was privy to the view in his mind’s eye, else they might recognize the true reason for the color in his cheeks as more than embarrassment from surprise. 

At night, alone in his bed, Reid found himself craving the warmth of Jackson's body. He dreamt of the doctor whispering in his ear and caressing him, of lying side by side in such close proximity as to allow for him to kiss the back of Jackson’s neck. Warm and content. When he awoke in the mornings, he found himself hugging the spare pillow to his chest. No one was there to feel the touch of his hand when he reached across the cool bedclothes. Reid acknowledged his desire for closeness, however despondent it made him, therefore, to also recognize how little human interaction he received outside of work related scuffles and antics. It seemed contrary, if he was so keen on being intimate with Jackson again, that he should feel anxiety at the prospect of his desires being actualized. 

Then was it the location and the chance his off duty presence in the brothel might be discovered which stirred his anxiety? Should that occur, no doubt rumors would be raised as to his character, at the least. It would be far worse should the intimacy he and Jackson shared be exposed. Being found with another man, especially as a detective inspector bound by duty to uphold the law, would ruin him. He could be thrown in a jail cell. He contemplated this possibility, then admitted the odds were slim. 

Susan and he had an unwritten accord allowing for her to maintain business operations at his whim, something unheard of in other parts of London. Reid rationalized this decision by admitting the ladies in her employ were safer in the brothel than on the streets, especially with killers like Jack the Ripper on the loose. He could not fathom she would risk her livelihood by allowing him to fall into disrepute on her own property. If he lost his position, she ran the risk of losing her business. Working through this logic did not sooth his nerves, however. He was still uncomfortable in the brothel, still lurking in a den of inequity.

Then there was, of course, the relative novelty of the intimacy he and Jackson shared. It all felt a bit one-sided. Reid knew himself to be inexperienced. He recognized in himself the lack of natural confidence for these acts of familiarity with which Jackson, it seemed, had been imbued at birth. The doctor seemed to know what to do, when to do it, and where to do it as a second nature. Reid had found himself overthinking, stuck in his mind until his deliberations had very nearly ruined the moment or, thankfully, Jackson had moved on of his own accord. 

He and Jackson had only been together once. It was the only instance Reid had ever been with another man, and yet the passion Reid had experienced surpassed anything he had felt before. He had never been thrown into a stupor after intimacy with Emily. Whatever this was, this thing between him and Jackson, it was new and uncharted territory. Undefined. Reid was the sort who strove to define and catalog, to understand and document, every bit of information that crossed his path. Drifting along in the unknown was daunting. He acknowledge some of his anxiety grew from this unfamiliarity.

Other possibilities popped up in his mind. Reid knew the doctor enjoyed games, enjoyed teasing him. He had admitted as much during their previous encounter. Perhaps Jackson had requested his presence at the brothel specifically to set him ill at ease as part of some game. Or maybe Jackson was unhappy with him and wishing for a smooth way, a defensible location, to quit their newfound closeness.

Reid began to replay their first meeting over in his head and frowned. He had been so wrapped up in his own experience, he chastised himself, that he had noticed little else. Perhaps the doctor had not found it pleasurable. Jackson had stayed overnight, however, and some time the next morning. Surely that meant he had enjoyed himself?

Reid lifted his bowler from his head, rubbed at his forehead, and ran his hand through his hair. He paced as he contemplated, tapping his hat against the palm of one hand. The weight of his insecurities pressed heavy upon his confidence and courage. Perhaps this was a mistake. He eyed the door. If he snuck out now, before the doctor was informed of his presence and arrived to find him there, Jackson might never know the difference. Reid wondered if he should quit the brothel and resign himself to his loneliness.

The muffled sound of people chatting drifted into the room and broke his reflection. Footfalls move up and down the stairs. There was laughter and a squeal of glee from another room. Reid paused to listen, closing his eyes and stilling his hat in his hand. 

This place was so much more alive than his home. It vibrated with color and energy. Dust had not settled on the surfaces of furniture because it was all used far too often. Lights were always on, rooms were always inhabited, and there were always other people around. Even in the late evening, it was hardly unusual to find someone awake and prowling about downstairs for tea or a biscuit.

Reid heard the door opened and then close. He opened his eyes to find Jackson strolling toward him in his usual confident gate.

“Plans have changed,” Jackson said abruptly.

Reid's heart sank as he perceived his worries realized. The rejection stung more than he thought it would. There was a quick, sharp pain in the center of his chest. He blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but could not immediately find his words.

“Of course,” he fumbled, glancing at the carpet. Forcing a quick smile, he put his hat back on and made himself look at Jackson. “I understand, certainly. I’ll show myself out and, please, excuse my intrusion,” he offered with a nod, having regained a sense of propriety. Then he started for the door before he said something indicative of his despondence. Reid decided then to lose his sensibilities, his misplaced hope, in the cold comfort of a bottle when he arrived home.

Jackson sighed and rolled his eyes. He grasped Reid’s right elbow. “I said changed, Reid,” he quipped, giving his elbow a tug. “Not cancelled. Changed.”

“Oh,” said Reid, relieved. “Oh, I’ve misunderstood.” The pain in his chest dissipated. 

“Yeah, you did. Take a seat.” Jackson guided him to one of the two chairs in the room before lighting himself a cigarette and sitting in the adjacent chair. He leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. “Now, I had plans for tonight, but something’s come up,” he blew out a stream of smoke. “I think it’s something you’d enjoy.” He narrowed his eyes at the inspector. “But, it’ll require your confidence in me. You trust me, don’t you?”

Reid shrugged. “Is it not obvious?”

“Then you wouldn’t take issue with my blindfolding you?” Jackson leaned back and flicked the ash from his cigarette. He threw one leg over the arm of his chair, waiting for Reid’s reply.

Reid studied his surgeon. He felt his apprehension return. The idea of giving up his sight made him uncomfortable. Losing the ability to see meant losing the ability to properly perceive and respond to his immediate surroundings. He wondered the point of such an exercise. Was it to leave him feeling vulnerable? Jackson seemed to enjoy a measure of control. Perhaps that was the doctor’s intention, then, to exact a measure of control over him. This did not explain the need for a blindfold, however, when Reid could simply close his eyes. He shifted in his chair and smoothed a hand over his lapel. “To what end?”

“It was fun last time I surprised you, wasn’t it? C'mon, Reid, live a little.”

“Forgive me, I'm trying to understand the purpose of intentional blinding.” 

“Haven't you ever heard if you lose one sense, all your others become heightened?”

This intrigued the inspector. He had heard of blind persons developing heightened senses of touch and hearing.

“And,” Jackson continued, “you inject a little mystery.”

“Mystery,” Reid repeated.

“Yeah. What detective inspector doesn't like a little mystery?” Jackson took another drag of his cigarette. Then he let it dangle between his lips as he shoved a hand into his pocket and drew out the length of a silken tie. “What do you say?” He bounced his eyebrows.

“You're intent on fixing that garment over my eyes?”

“Sure am,” he said coyly, pulling the length of the tie between his fingers.

Reid bit his lower lip. He eyed the tie, his mind churning over the unpleasantness of losing his sight. What if something happened, an emergency or an attack, while he was temporarily incapacitated? He would have to trust in Jackson’s experience and abilities.

Jackson slid out of his chair. He paused to tap out his cigarette, then confidently took the two steps to Reid's chair. Slipping his knees in on either side of the inspector's thighs, he straddled him, and eased down onto Reid’s lap. Then he plucked the bowler from the inspector’s head and set it on the floor.

Reid laid his hands on Jackson's thighs, squeezing just hard enough to feel the firmness of the doctor's muscles beneath his fingers. The weight and warmth of the doctor’s body on his felt comfortable. The inspector gazed up at Jackson and smiled softly. If this is all he were to be granted, Reid thought, he would be thankful. He did not feel so alone and yearned to linger in the comfort a while longer. Contentedly, he sighed.

Jackson stilled. With a curious look on his face, he watched Reid, allowing the inspector an unhindered moment of quiet contentment. Then he leaned in to the Reid's ear. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, straightening out and preparing the tie. “Let me. Let me do this for you, Reid.”

Reid felt the doctor's breath flutter against his ear, the tone of his voice smooth and soothing. He recalled the last time Jackson had said such words, how pleasurable it had been to let the doctor do with him as he pleased. The doctor's aftershave, hints of whiskey and the sweet, sticky smell of tobacco, helped draw out the memories. He grazed his cheek against Jackson's and gently pressed a tender kiss to the doctor's jawline. 

But his concerns had not been dispelled by Jackson's affection and he sought still to alleviate his nervousness. “If…” he trailed off, floundering for the right words and eager not to appear too worried in front of Jackson. “If…something should…happen, this,” he ran a finger over the tie, “can be easily, quickly removed?”

Jackson sat back, his brow furrowed, and regarded Reid. 

The inspector tensed and ducked his gaze under the scrutiny. He felt a flush creep up his neck and tried to swallow his embarrassment. He had no illusions. The doctor was a perceptive man.

“What is it you think might happen?” said Jackson, eyes narrowing as he considered Reid.

“What if…” The inspector felt fear trickle into his veins, but he was unsure of its cause. “Some unforeseen danger to which our response must be immediate. Should my sight be taken…” 

The image of thick, burning beams flying toward him flashed through his mind. He blinked at Jackson and the image vanished as quickly as it had come. Reid tried to ignore it.

“…should I be unable…” 

Another image tore into his concentration. A bloodied and terrified woman screaming as she disappeared into swirling blackness. Reid gasped. He shook his head as if to clear his mind.

“…should…should…”

The body of a small boy, his too-steady gaze unfocused on the sky. A shrieking man on fire jumping overboard. The throttling jolts sent through the ferry’s deck as it tore apart. Reid’s mouth sagged open. His body stiffened. He forgot what he was trying to say.

“…should…”

The images dominated his mind, growing in strength and number. He could not think. He could not conjure any other words. All his energy and will focused on pulling his mind away from the precipice of an abyss filled with unyielding atrocity. An abyss filled with fire and smoke, terror and pain, and seething with sheer panic. It was a task that left him without reserves to focus on speaking with Jackson and left him doomed to repeating the single word over and over again. He recognized now what had begun, recognized the portents of the monster about to engulf him. Frantic, he squeezed his eyes shut.

He had always been alone when it had happened before and he fought, perspiration glistening on his skin, to prevent it from occurring in the presence of Jackson. Yet he knew he would be powerless to stop the nameless phenomenon, just as all the times before. Powerless to prevent it from turning his mind into a slave of fear and horror, his trepidation of his fear only increasing the power of the thing itself and expediting his loss of control.

“No…” he pleaded under his breath. “…please, no.”

“Reid. Please no, what?” Jackson implored. “What’s happening?”

It struck. His body lurched in the chair and he cried out as his mind launched into a reel of memories and emotions of its own accord. Each terrible piece of the horrific puzzle flashed by at uncontrollable speed, faster than he could comprehend anything beyond pure barbarity and torment. Smoke. Fire. Blood. Fear. Anguish. Death. 

Darkness enveloped him, and then fiery brilliance. In vain he struggled to free himself from the crushing weight on his chest. He screamed against the searing pain tearing through his body, against the horror of it all at the top of his lungs, but there was no one to hear his cries. No one to attend his pain amidst the wrenching of metal, cracking of wood, and rushing, swirling cold black waters. His body trembled in agony as his nerves were burnt away. He turned his face away from the scorching heat of the flames, and smelt the odor of his own singed hair. 

Around him others wailed, terrified. His daughter was nowhere among them. He could not find her. Opening his mouth he tried to call out for her, but his breath failed him. He was unable to scream. The pressure against his chest proved too much for the strength of his flagging adrenaline. He gaped for air. His lungs could not draw in any and he writhed, uselessly, uncontrollably.

He opened his eyes and saw Jackson’s face through a blur of tears. Confusion compounded his misery. He strove to understand if he was back at the scene of the boat accident or if he was with Jackson. Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes again and grit his teeth.

Tightness and pain strummed through the center of his chest to his left shoulder. Heat cut into his skin, biting into the muscle under his scar. Reid winced and groaned. He opened his mouth to draw breath, but he could not breathe for the pain. There was a burden upon his chest, a weight and tightness where the beam lay, and something scratched at his skin. Reid groped at the fabric covering his left shoulder and pectoral, fumbling to yank the constricting material away, but it did not give. He set upon tearing at his shirt collar.

Fingers curled around his wrists, tugging his hands away. “Let me! Let me!” a voice insisted.

Reid tried to wrench his hands free, but his strength waned and the grip on his arms was not forgiving. His hands were pushed to the side. He felt his waistcoat and shirt hurriedly unbuttoned. Then his clothing was pushed away from his hot skin to reveal the disfigurement on his left pectoral and shoulder. He gasped as the room's cool air struck his skin, subduing the burning sensation licking at his flesh.

Reid thought he heard Jackson ask him where he was, but the voice seemed distant. Someone's hand was on his chest, pressing circles into the hardened tissue and working the muscles loose.

In his mind's eye the smoke was too thick to see clearly. His eyes burned and blurred with tears and he just caught a glimpse of a pink, frilly dress fall over the edge of the deck into the watery abyss.

“Reid! Come back, Reid!” Jackson voice echoed somewhere in the maelstrom. “Come back to me.”

Jackson was not on the boat. It could not be his surgeon’s voice he heard because the doctor had never been on the ferry. Reid’s mind could not make sense of the inconsistency. It added to his confusion and he railed amidst the chaos.

Strong fingers took hold of his jaw. Again the inspector tried to pull away, to resist the forces seeking to subdue him. Hands clamped to his face. The grip was powerful and prevented him from turning his head away. He groaned and arched his back, clawing feebly at the hands that held him.

“Edmund!” Jackson’s voice boomed. “Damnit, Edmund! Open your eyes, Edmund! Edmund!” The doctor commanded.

Jackson never used his full first name. It jarred Reid’s consciousness, disrupting the reel of terror. Reid obeyed. He opened his eyes and was instantly struck by the intense blue of Jackson's irises. Jackson. Doctor Homer Jackson, the American Captain. His surgeon. He blinked, then took in the room. Smoke was not swirling around them. There was no fire, no screams of terror or sounds of tearing wood and metal. It was only Jackson’s worried face staring back at him.

“Edmund,” he said, breathless. “Edmund, are you with me?” He eased his grip on Reid’s face, carefully holding it steady without being forceful.

Reid inhaled deeply. Sweet, sweet air was pulled into his lungs. “Oh,” he sobbed joyfully, chest shaking and heaving as he panted. This was not the wreckage of the boat. It was the brothel and he was with Jackson. Jackson, who let go of his jaw to stroke his cheek, whose other hand pressed soothing circles into his chest. It was real. He felt the warmth of the doctor’s hands.

Reid latched onto the smell of the doctor's aftershave and clenched his right fist into the material of Jackson’s waistcoat. His heart thumped in his chest. He tried to slow his breathing, tried to focus on the concrete sensation of Jackson's touch and stared into the blue of the doctor’s eyes.

The doctor pushed harder, grinding his palm into solid bulk of Reid's pectoral muscle and forcing it to release the tension it held. He moved up, gradually, to loosen the tissue around Reid's shoulder and neck.

Reid marveled at the skill and strength of the doctor's hands. Jackson seemed to know exactly where to touch him, exactly how to ease the pain. Even the constant dull aches he had felt for so long lessened. “Oh,” he moaned as Jackson liberated him from the suffering and let his head fall back against the chair. 

“Care to tell me where you just went?” Jackson carefully prodded.

Reid stared at the ceiling as the doctor manipulated his body. Tears welled in his eyes. Oh, the absurdity of it all, that he should be thrust back into that hell whenever it pleased to take hold of him, regardless of his location or company, and that he should be so defenseless against it. That it should reduce him, a fully grown man and a man of the law at that, to a weeping, trembling wreckage lost in time to grief and fear. 

He abhorred his weakness. It stole his independence and his confidence. It stole whole nights of sleep from him. When it struck him at home there was nothing and no one to ground him back into reality. The memories of his Matilda and deceased wife were strongest there, adding to his disquiet, and his sanity was only saved after exhaustion took his consciousness. The following mornings he dragged himself to work feeling ill. Often he lost his appetite for food, but not for drink. Work proved a worthy distraction and he had sunk himself into it with a vivacity few could match.

“The accident,” he said, his voice less steady than he would have liked. He cleared his throat and drew a shaky breath.

“What was it took you back?” Jackson's gaze set upon Reid's shoulder and his ministrations.

“I expect,” Reid murmured, rolling his head to look at Jackson, “it was either the prospect of blindness or… helplessness.” He prayed the turmoil he felt was not evident in his eyes, but the warmth of a tear slid down his cheek and he grimaced in anger at the lack of control he possessed over his own body. 

Jackson studied him, his hand still moving over Reid's injury. “Will you tell me what happened?” he asked, brushing away the tear streak with his thumb.

Reid clenched his teeth.

Jackson’s fingertips traced the line of his jaw. “Short version, I mean. You've never told me.” He shrugged, then broke eye contact to concentrate on the massage.

Reid's heart broke. He loathed to tell the tale, but desired to give Jackson an explanation for his absurd behavior. “I took… Matilda,” his voice broke. At the sound of his daughter's name he felt his face twist in anguish. Helpless to stop it, he closed his eyes and paused until he knew he could hold his composure.

Jackson said nothing, but rested his palm against Reid's cheek. His fingers caught the curve of the inspector's jaw below his ear.

Reid turned his face into Jackson's hand, wishing he could hide there in the comfort of Jackson's touch, but knew he could not. He lingered a moment. Then he drew in a shuddered breath, steeled himself, and pulled his face away from Jackson's hand to continue. 

“I lost track of her on the boat. Many children were present that day and they all joined together, running about. I was distracted in my duties, by my surveillance objective. In my arrogance, my naivety, I had insisted on melding time spent with my child with that of my duties. My arrogance, my failure.” He frowned and did his best to continue his explanation with cold detachment.

“The ferry was struck by another, a larger boat, and ours was torn asunder. I couldn't find… my child and in the course of my search I was…struck down.” He motioned to his chest. “A beam of sorts, fire laden, forced my hand. I was pinned to the deck and I could do nothing more than listen as people screamed in fright, powerless as I was to…help even myself. The pain…” He shook his head against the sensation of his flesh burning, against the memory of fighting for breath through the smoke and crushing weight of the beam. “I found no respite, however short, until I was swallowed by smoke and dark water.” He felt his chest tremble, but his composure held.

Jackson had ceased his ministrations. His hand lay idle on Reid’s chest and he intently watched the inspector.

The inspector faltered under his gaze. He looked down at their laps and searched for his next words. Despite the awkwardness of his admission, he felt a weight lifted from his soul. Perhaps telling Jackson about the accident helped salvaged a piece of himself, he thought. Nevertheless, he knew he must apologize for ruining their evening with his lack of self-control. 

“I…” he cleared his throat again, “My apologies, Jackson, I've –”

“No, stop.” Jackson spat. “Just stop, Reid. I don't want to hear it.” 

The interruption was so curt Reid looked back at his surgeon, stung by his abruptness and confused. He wondered what he said to cause offense, then sought to correct any misinterpretation and clarify his intentions.

“I only mean to –”

“Damnit, Reid, shut up, will you?” He patted Reid’s chest. “I know perfectly well what you were about to do and I'll hear none of it. You don't owe me any apologies. I asked, didn't I? I asked, and you answered.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. 

Reid opened his mouth as if to respond, then thought better of it. 

Jackson massaged Reid's deltoid and trapezius. Then he slid his hand up to rest along the inspector's neck, grazing the front of Reid's throat with the pad of his thumb. “How's the shoulder feel?”

The inspector focused on his shoulder and found much of the pain had subsided. The muscles felt looser, more pliable, and his chest did not ache so terribly. “Much improvement, thank you, Doctor.”

“Good.” Jackson nodded and smiled softly. 

Reid loosened his grip on Jackson's waistcoat, but left his hand in place. He was not ready to relinquish this closeness, was not ready for Jackson to leave him.

“To maintain the benefit, we should do this regularly.” Jackson’s hand slipped down from Reid's neck to caress his chest. The stroke was gentle. “I think you'll find continued improvement if you submit to consistent treatment. Body and mind.”

The inspector offered Jackson a half-hearted smile and sighed. His mind swam with doubt. Doubt not of the doctor’s capabilities as a medical professional, but rather of his own abilities to overcome his afflictions. He knew the scars and tissue damage to be permanent, and this odd disease of his mind… No surgery would fix.

“You are not helpless or weak,” Jackson declared.

This was absolutely contrary to how Reid felt. He was embarrassed by the doctor’s vocalization of his intimate feelings, the easy way his friend drew out and displayed his inferiorities. He felt his face redden and he averted his gaze.

“No, damnit, look at me, Reid,” said Jackson, frustrated.

The inspector hesitated, then relented and looked to Jackson.

“This thing, the anxiety, feeling like you’re somewhere else, heart pounding,” he splayed his hand flat on Reid’s chest over his heart, “feeling like you can’t breathe, it’s called ‘Soldier’s Heart’. I’ve seen it before, with soldiers coming off battle.”

“I’m not a military man,” Reid whispered.

“Yeah, I know,” Jackson nodded encouragingly. “But, the circumstances and the patient responses are similar, identical in some ways. Circumstances being,” he ticked off his fingers. “Injury, pain, death, terrified people screaming, a chaotic environment with catastrophic destruction… That’s a lot like war.” He paused. “And, if the circumstances you endured are similar to war, it stands to reason your response would also be similar to those of people who have experienced war. It all fits. And it doesn’t mean you’re abnormal. It means you’re human and have human responses. You with me?” The doctor ducked his head to stare into Reid’s eyes.

Reid contemplated Jackson’s logic and could not promptly find fault. He was heartened. Hope swelled within him. “I understand your meaning,” he nodded. “How… Is it treatable? Can the episodes be stopped?”

Jackson leaned back, thinking, and settled his full weight on Reid’s lap. “I’m not sure,” he frowned.

The hope drained away. Reid’s head drooped and his clenched his jaw to prevent the despair that welled in the pit of his stomach from becoming overwhelming. He wondered if he would be this way for the rest of his life and, if so, how much longer he would be able to keep up the pretenses of daily life before he no longer had the strength or will to continue. How long before an episode struck him at work and he was deemed unfit for duty?

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jackson slid his hand around the back of Reid’s neck and rubbed affectionately. His fingers ran up into the inspector’s hair. “Just because I’m not sure off the top of my head doesn’t mean there isn’t a treatment. It just means it’s not what I studied, it’s not my specialty. But, neither was forensicating until now, and who’s the best surgeon you’ve ever known?”

Reid lifted his head to look at Jackson, but he could not break through his own distress to speak. 

Jackson nodded, as if understanding Reid’s look. “That’s right, I am,” he said, adding a touch of levity. “Give your American friend a chance. We’ll find a way to work through this.”

The inspector managed a fleeting smile, but did not have the fortitude to maintain eye contact. Reid tried to clear the lump from his throat before speaking. “I trust your medical opinion, Doctor Jackson,” he whispered.

Jackson sighed. “You’re stronger than you realize, Reid.” Again he ducked his head in an attempt to catch the inspector’s eye. “Physically, you suffered a hefty, lasting injury, yet you still manage to slam me into walls. I’ve felt your strength.” Jackson rested his hands on Reid’s shoulders. “And I’ve seen what Soldier’s Heart does to men. You wouldn’t have made it this long, living and working as well as you have, if you weren’t resilient. Especially after…” He shook his head.

The doctor had fallen silent, but Reid knew Jackson meant the loss of his daughter and wife. He felt little strength despite the words of encouragement. To the contrary, he felt utterly exhausted and knew from experience it was due, at least in part, to the episode. His limbs felt heavy and his mind addled. Resigned to his current state, he sighed, and allowed himself to fix an unfocused gaze on their laps.

Jackson’s hands smoothed over Reid’s shoulders to his neck. His thumbs caressed the inspector’s skin. Wordlessly, the doctor eased the inspector forward. He wrapped his arms around Reid, pulling the inspector into his chest in a firm embrace, and laid his cheek against Reid’s hair.

The embrace surprised Reid. He drew a shuddered breath as his head came to lay against Jackson’s chest. It was simple affection, far from the Captain’s usual coy nature. Universally recognized the world over as an intimate display of love between family members, friends, and lovers. Such a simple token, and yet it overwhelmed Reid. Far beyond a carnal pleasure, he felt cared for. Safe. And he was desperate for the relief. 

He slipped his arms around the doctor’s waist, clutching at Jackson’s waistcoat and shirt, as the reserves of his will responsible for what little control he maintained failed wholly, and he was plunged into a tidal wave of all his emotions at once. It washed over him and consumed him. As his fears and despair manifested he tightened his hold on Jackson, grasping for hope, for companionship, and his arms constricted against the doctor’s torso. His body trembled and agony twisted his features. He felt the acute pain of his emotions stab at his chest. He wept.

Jackson quietly held him.

Reid could not stop. His face became soaked with his tears. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as if to barricade out the world and all of its horrors, and buried his face in Jackson’s shirt.

The doctor moved one hand up and ran his fingers into Reid’s hair, massaging the inspector’s scalp and neck. “Things will get better, Edmund,” he whispered into Reid’s hair. “I promise.” Jackson nuzzled his head and rubbed circles into his back. “You’re not alone.”

The inspector set his forehead against Jackson’s shoulder. His body shook as he panted between sobs, but he felt the tears were slowing. “Forgive me,” he begged Jackson in a most unmanly voice, marred by a hiccup or two, as he loosened his hold around the doctor. “Please, forgive me, Homer.”

“Edmund, I’ve nothing to forgive you for. You’ve done nothing wrong,” said Jackson, still rubbing Reid’s back. “I think this is just part of it. I think you have to go through it, let it break over you, to be able to move on past it.” He pulled back to look at the inspector’s face. “How do you feel?”

Reid knew his eyes would be red and his cheeks wet, his hair and clothing disheveled. Quickly, he tried to compose himself before he looked up at Jackson. He wiped at his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he looked at Jackson, to his utter surprise, he found his friend’s expression solemn and eyes watery. The inspector stumbled for words. He tried to absorb his surgeon’s display of emotion and wondered at the cause.

“Exhausted,” Reid bluntly stated and sighed. “And I’ve taken up enough of your time, I’m sure. It’s time I take my leave. I can show myself out.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ll stay here with me. As your attending physician, I can’t leave you unattended. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not my attending physician.”

“The hell I’m not.” Jackson slid off his lap and stood, stretching his legs with a groan. “C’mon,” he said, extending a hand to Reid.

Reid took it and allowed himself to be pulled from the chair.

Jackson motioned to his bed. “To bed with you. I’ll get the lamps.”

Relief swept over Reid. He would not be spending another night alone in his cold, empty home. Careful of his shoulder, he began to undress. As he disrobed, folded his clothes, and set them aside, the inspector watched his friend extinguish the room’s lamps. It seemed there was something different about Jackson now. He did not move like the confident predator anymore, but simply as a man, mortal and tired without the benefit and bother of a clever façade. It was endearing. Reid smiled softly as he watched him.

When Jackson turned back for the bed he discovered the inspector’s gaze. He paused, looking at Reid, a playful smile on his lips.

It was then Reid recalled he had shed his clothing. He blushed and slipped under the covers.

Jackson joined him a moment later.

They lay in the dark, under the sheets, staring at one another in the shadows. Reid watched as Jackson's chest rose and fell with his breath. Stretched out beside him, quiet and still, the doctor looked peaceful. Reid ached to be closer, to feel the comfort of his arms again and to feel the solid warmth of his body against his own, but the inspector held his tongue. He did not want to press his luck. He reminded himself to be content with what he was given.

Jackson’s gaze passed over Reid’s form, then he rolled onto his back and settled into the mattress. “Come here,” he whispered in the dark, and opened his arms to Reid. 

Reid blinked at him, hoping his eyes had not deceived him. Then he slipped across the bed into Jackson’s embrace. As the doctor's arms slid around his back and shoulders, he suppressed a whimper. He nuzzled his cheek to Jackson’s chest, over the doctor’s heart. Then he curled an arm around his doctor’s waist and squeezed himself against Jackson's body. 

Fabric ruffled as Jackson pulled the sheets over Reid's back. Then the doctor wrapped an arm around the inspector's head, gently hugging it to his chest.

A feeling of contentment washed over Reid. Comfort and safety. Wrapped in Jackson's capable, strong arms he felt protected. He did not fight the feeling, did not analyze it, but rather let it wash over him. Tension he had not realized he had been holding eased away and he melted into Jackson's body. He placed a single, soft kiss to Jackson's chest. Then years of struggle crashed over him and his aching, exhausted body gave out. His limbs grew heavy. His mind muddled with the pull of sleep. He desperately tried to keep his eyes open, to be able to enjoy this comfort for as long as possible, but his breath had already slowed and deepened. His vision blurred. Reid fell asleep to the lullaby of Jackson's heartbeat.


End file.
